


break these clocks, forget about time

by whatsupdanger



Category: Henry Danger (TV)
Genre: (but can be read as platonic), Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Injury, Living Together, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Movie Night, Multi, OT3, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates), honestly? i don't even know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 15:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21322258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsupdanger/pseuds/whatsupdanger
Summary: The point is this: the three of them piled together on the couch with the blankets pulled over their laps, the dim light from the streets spilling in through the window, the cheap takeout in their hands and Jasper's arm around her and Henry's fingers threaded through hers and this, them, together.
Relationships: Charlotte Bolton & Jasper Dunlop & Henry Hart, Charlotte Bolton/Jasper Dunlop/Henry Hart
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49





	break these clocks, forget about time

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know? i don't know. there's no plot to this. i just wanted some shitty domestic ot3 fluff and started writing on sunday night and this all came out at once. the three of them are aged up here; you can picture it at any point in their lives, really, but personally i saw them as fresh out of college. it also doesn't have to be read as romantic, it can definitely be a platonic friendship thing. anyway, enjoy!
> 
> (the title is from the song a.m. by one direction)

By the time they make it back to their apartment, Henry's sort of out of it.

He hasn't said much on the way home—not in the dark, brooding way that he only ever falls into when things are _really _bad, but more in the way that he gets when he's just tired. Worn out. He's leaning heavily on Charlotte as Jasper fumbles with his keys. She can see the latter's gaze flitting from side to side—Henry's not in costume anymore, but the fact that he's only a little more than half-conscious would probably raise too many questions among their new neighbors. Over the years that they've been doing this, the three of them have perfected the art of making up excuses, but they've only been here a couple of weeks, and they really don't need any sort of suspicion on them just yet.

Jasper finally gets the door open with only some effort (Charlotte's long since given up on trying to explain to him why having that many keychains on the same ring just doesn't make _sense_) and flicks on the lamps. Warm light floods the room, spilling over the pull-out couch they'd bought only a few days ago and the boxes that still sit unpacked in the corners of the room.

If it were up to Charlotte, things would be spick and span, exactly in their place by now, but it's not. Not entirely, anyway. She's tried, she's _definitely _tried to put their new apartment together, but it seems like her boys have a way of distracting her out of it every single time, with video games or movies or music that she really can't help but dance to with them.

(Maybe she should mind it more than she does. But maybe she's just too caught up in the happiness that they've finally, _finally _moved in together to care.)

Anyway, it's not like it isn't wonderful the way that it is. There's the beginnings of the bookshelf that she and Henry were putting together in the corner, and tiny potted succulents on the coffee table and counter tops, and a box of Henry's flowers by the window and a gaming system set up underneath the TV and the polaroids that Jasper had taken of the three of them hanging on string lights by wooden laundry clips over the couch. It's perfect.

And to Charlotte, it's home.

She helps Henry down onto the couch, and he tips his head back and shuts his eyes and gives her a tired sort of smile. It could be worse, she thinks briefly—it _has _been worse—and still, there's a flutter of concern in her chest as she cards her fingers through her hair. Schwoz had given him a thorough examination; he's got a sprained ankle and a few scrapes and bruises and a mild concussion, but he'll be okay. By tomorrow morning, he'll be bouncing on his feet, acting good as new, whether he's pretending just for their benefit or not.

For tonight, though, he's too out of it to put on a show, and Charlotte is quietly sort of grateful for that. For tonight, he'll let her and Jasper take care of him, let himself close his eyes and rest for once. God knows he needs it.

"We're out of leftovers," Jasper says, looking over at them from where he's standing by the open fridge. "Should I make something?"

"Better not." Henry's words are a little slurred together, but there's a lopsided grin on his face and a teasing lilt to his voice.

He's right—the only things that Jasper knows how to make are turkey sandwiches and instant ramen. Really, that goes for Charlotte too; she's a fantastic baker, but she can't cook to save her life. That's Henry's job here, although clearly he's not up to it at the moment.

"Order takeout," Charlotte suggests. "Em's Kitchen."

Jasper nods and has the order placed within a few minutes; he's got the number saved on his phone and doesn't even have to ask her and Henry what they want. Em's Kitchen has quickly become their default; it's right across the street and doesn't dent their wallets very much, and it's good, too—at least, as good as cheap Americanized-Chinese takeout can get.

When he's off the phone, Jasper settles onto the couch next to Charlotte, curling up against her shoulder while his fingers reach over to thread through Henry's. He's warm; Charlotte will swear sometimes that lying next to him is like curling up beside a fire, and she leans back into him.

"How're you feeling, Hen?" he says around her, and Henry's mouth quirks upward a little like he's pleased just by the sound of Jasper's voice, which, really, she can't argue with.

"M'fine," he replies. "Head's kind of fuzzy, though."

"That's why you don't go giving yourself concussions," Charlotte chides. Jasper chuckles softly next to her.

Henry pouts a little, and it's cute enough that Charlotte can _feel _herself melt and has no doubt that Jasper does the same. "It's not my fault I got thrown into a stupid wall," he protests, though it's half-hearted.

"No," Jasper hums in agreement, "but we should probably get you a helmet at some point." He taps the side of Henry's head gently for effect, and Charlotte laughs quietly as Henry's scowl deepens and he swats at Jasper's hand.

The doorbell rings a little later, and Charlotte carefully untangles herself from the two of them and misses the warmth immediately when she does. She scrapes a handful of change from the jar on the kitchen counter and opens the door, smiling at the dark-haired man who hands her the food and tells her to enjoy her meal. She trades the cash for the bag of takeout and then he's gone and she shuts the door and makes her way back to the couch, the smell of fryer oil slowly filling the room.

There's Kung Pao chicken for her, shrimp fried rice for Jasper, sesame beef for Henry, and potstickers for the three of them to share. She deals out chopsticks and napkins and then settles back into her place in between them.

"You guys wanna watch a movie?" Jasper asks, clumsily grabbing a potsticker from the carton in her lap with his chopsticks. He's gotten a little better at using them, but the bar was set pretty low to begin with. At least he's trying, though—unlike Henry, who's just settled for a fork.

"We never did finish _The Avengers,_" Charlotte says with a small shrug, and takes the remote.

Between the three of them, they've probably watched it over a hundred times. But that's not the point, really—the point is her calling out every inaccuracy in the film, and Jasper saying all the lines he knows by heart, and Henry telling them both to shut up with enough affection in his voice to let them know he doesn't really mind. The point is _this: _the three of them piled together on the couch with the blankets pulled over their laps, the dim light from the streets spilling in through the window, the cheap takeout in their hands and Jasper's arm around her and Henry's fingers threaded through hers and _this, them, together._

They haven't quite gotten to the battle of New York yet when it's clear that Henry's asleep, snoring quietly from where he's lying with his head in Charlotte's lap. She finds herself watching him more than the movie, drawing comfort from the steady rise and fall of his chest, and maybe Jasper notices because his voice cuts in over the shouts and laser fire effects coming from the screen.

"You worried about him?" he says, the arm that's wrapped around her moving to rub her shoulder gently.

She shrugs a little. "Always," she replies, and he cracks a smile and presses a soft kiss against her temple.

"He'll be okay," Jasper says, quiet but sure. "He's got us, remember?"

It's sort of cheesy, and maybe a year ago Charlotte wouldn't have believed him. But it's been the three of them together since they were little kids. They've walked through heaven and hell and come out of it stronger, and she's quickly realizing that when it's like this, them, together, there's nothing they can't do.

"I love you, Jasper," she says quietly, and he smiles softly and nudges his head in between her neck and shoulder.

"Love you too, Char," he breathes, his eyes closed. "And you, Hen, even though you're an idiot."

Henry just snores in response, and Charlotte feels a laugh rise in her throat.

There's a flutter of something in her chest, then, something that Charlotte thinks will never go away, no matter how long they live together, no matter how many more nights they spend like this. It feels soft, familiar. It feels warm.

And to Charlotte, it feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me on tumblr at @kiddangers


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